Page 4 of Faking All the Way
My arms tighten around him, my mind already bracing for the moment when he shoves me away—but then his arms come up too, encircling me with measured precision as if he’s handling some unpredictable feral animal. Which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth in this moment.
“I thought you couldn’t make it,” I say, projecting my voice just loud enough to carry back to Daniel’s eagle-eyed surveillance. “I was literally just saying that you wouldn’t be here.” Drawing back, I smile brightly even as I flash him a pleading look. “I’m so glad you came!”
Please play along. Please, please, please.
“Surprise.”
His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through his chest where I’m plastered against him. There’s a question buried inthat single word, but at least he’s playing along—for now. Maybe he meets so many fans that he honestly can’t keep track of whether we’ve been introduced before, although that doesn’t explain why he’s letting me cling to him like some insane koala.
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and this close, I can see flecks of silver swimming in all that blue-gray. His eyes narrow just slightly, and he glances between me and where Daniel and Maya are standing nearby watching us as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.
“The best surprise,” I manage, then tack on a probably unnecessary, “babe.”
Somehow, for some reason, he’s still holding me. This gorgeous stranger I’ve basically assaulted in public has his large hands resting at my waist as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. As if it’s normal for him to find himself in small-town Virginia being accosted by a woman he’s never laid eyes on.
I draw another shaky breath, accidentally inhaling another deep lungful of his intoxicating scent as the full magnitude of my situation starts crystallizing around the edges of my panic.
I’ve just thrown myself at a stranger. A famous stranger. In an airport. While lying to my engaged ex-boyfriend about our fictional relationship.
My mother would have a full-scale coronary. Well, first she’d probably throw a parade about the boyfriend part, then die of shame over the public spectacle, then resurrect herself to gloat because he’s gorgeous and successful. Being Linda Sanders’ daughter is basically emotional whiplash as a lifestyle.
“I’m so glad you could rearrange your schedule,” I babble, stepping back but keeping one hand on his forearm. His very solid, very muscled forearm. “You’re amazing for making this work.”
His storm-colored eyes search my face as if he’s subtly trying to decide whether I’m crazy or not.
Honestly, the jury is still out on that one.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, running a hand over his dark hair. It’s cut fairly short, but the strands are just long enough to be a little unruly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Kat?” Daniel’s voice rises up from behind me, coming closer as he speaks. “Aren’t you going to properly introduce us?”
Right. This little performance has an audience. And a purpose. I can’t just stand here clutching a professional athlete like he’s the world’s most attractive emotional support animal.
Although if it wouldn’t cement my reputation as a lunatic, I’d consider requesting him as my personal anxiety management system. He radiates the kind of calm competence that could probably talk someone through turbulence without breaking a sweat.
As the footsteps behind me grow closer, I take Asher’s hand, which is so big that it engulfs mine, and turn to face my ex with what I hope passes for casual confidence.
“Daniel, Maya, meet Asher.” I’m shocked by how normal I sound, as if I introduce my hockey star ‘boyfriend’ to people regularly instead of having just learned his name from ESPN thirty minutes ago. “Asher, this is Daniel and his fiancée Maya.”
“I’m Kat’s ex,” Daniel adds unnecessarily, because apparently that clarification is crucial. He extends his hand to shake Asher’s free one. “Big fan, man—not that the Strikers are my team, but you brought some solid plays to the ice last season.”
“Thanks.” Asher accepts the handshake, and I don’t miss the way Daniel’s confident smile falters slightly as he feels the strength of Asher’s grip or the way he flexes his fingers afterward. It feels like one of those subtle things guys do, trying to work out a hierarchy among them, and I have a feeling Daniel didn’t come out on top.
Despite my nerves, I lift a hand to my face to hide the grin that tugs at my lips.
I like my fake boyfriend. Maybe I’ll fake marry him someday and have fake babies.
“Although I have to ask,” Daniel continues after Asher shakes Maya’s hand too, “there’s been some speculation about your contract situation, hasn’t there? Something about lingering effects from that shoulder injury? Sounds like you aren’t getting much interest from any other teams since the Strikers dropped you.”
The change in the man beside me is so subtle that I might miss it if I weren’t standing close enough to feel his body heat. His shoulders square almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening just enough to make a muscle jump along his cheek. I want to apologize, to somehow signal that I had no idea Daniel would go straight for the jugular, but I have to pretend I already know all about his career struggles.
“These things happen in hockey,” Asher replies, his voice level.
“Of course, of course.” Daniel shifts into full lawyer mode, his tone somehow both sympathetic and dripping condescension. “I’m sure it’ll work out. You were leading the team in scoring before the injury, right?”
“Second.”
“Ah, right. Still impressive numbers.” Daniel shakes his head, chuckling ruefully as if he can somehow relate personally to the struggles of a professional athlete. “Must be challenging, though. All that uncertainty hanging over your head. Especially at your age. You’re, what, thirty-two?”
